Awkward Introductions.

She watched me from the doorway as I unpacked and put away my jewelry.  She walked into the room, and as per her current usual, was narrating my activities in question form.

'You're putting away your neck-a-less, Mommy?'

And for some reason, I told her.  That, yes, I was putting away the necklace.  The necklace that had once been my mother's.

'This necklace was my Mommy's,' I said.

I don't ever really discuss my mother with my daughter.  I don't have a good explanation for that, in truth.  Other than it has seemed too early.  Like she wouldn't understand.  For the first year and change, I was just trying to make it through with this crazy kid that I have and although she has been naming those in her immediate circle for a long time now, it just didn't seem pressing or natural to insert my mother into the rotation.  And although she would occasionally ask me where my sister's Mommy was (she's met my BIL's mother,) she's never, ever asked me about mine.

But a few months ago, things began to change. She started to become more attuned, she's started to ask more questions, more persistently.  We watched enough of the opening scene of Finding Nemo for me to recall why the movie centers around Nemo and his Dad.  When I saw the Fish With Teeth, I fast forwarded to the next scene, hoping to avoid the obvious and for the Rest Of The Movie, my daughter asked this:

'But where's the Mommy? Where's Nemo's Mommy?'

I dodged the question.  I made up whereabouts.  I didn't want to say the word dead to my two year old. 

After I told her about the necklace belonging to my mother, she asked me this:

'Who is your Mommy?  What's her name?'

'Her name is Grandma Karen.  You've never seen her.  Do you want to see a picture of Grandma Karen?  I have one.'

She said yes and I took the funeral card out of my sock drawer for her to see.  I held it up and she approached it.

'That's your Mommy?'

'Yes.'

'Where is she?'

'She's not here.  But that's her.'

My girl looked at the picture as I studied her expression.  Reflected there was a mixture of wonder and amusement.  An initial glimmer of awareness, perhaps, that I am a seperate entity.  I fell down deep into that moment and for a second I experienced the most surreal juxtaposition.  There, in front of me was my daugther, my darling, whose face I know so well, who is such a huge part of my life as to make up the lion's share of it.  And in my hand, an image of my Mother, my memory, my attachment, my loss, my grief.

Looking at my daughter regarding the grandmother she will never meet, one who would have loved her beyond measure, made my throat close, my eyes sting.  I struggled to keep composure, to arrange my features to reflect only the wistfulness.

But my girl's got a finely tuned meter. 

She sensed the shift in the wind of my mood.  She became unsure, hesitant. She took a step back from the picture and looked at me with a question.  And then she asked it:

'She's not here?'

'No, baby, she's not here.'

And that's when I realized that the reason I avoid talking to my child about my mom isn't because I don't want to explain death, per se.  It's that I don't want to convey the idea, the knowledge, the awareness that Mommies can disappear into the ether.  That they can vanish and be lost and that can leave you feeling set adrift, floating aimlessly.  That sometimes Mommies don't come home ever again.  I know that it's the truth and it's part of life.  I just think she's too young for a bite of that apple right now.

Then I tacked the card up onto my mirror and went to find our wedding pictures.  Because I think the days of her asking questions are here to stay. 

And so, it's time to put Grandma Karen into the rotation.

Comments

[Kate]

I just read this for the first time and I understand. My little one is still a bit too little to be aware that she only has one grandma and I am not looking forward to the day when I have to face my pain to introduce her to the other grandma, who even though she isn't here, also loves her to pieces. Thanks for sharing your experience. Your blog is a very entertaining break for me to take at work ( I mean that in the nicest way possible, in the past I was playing backgammon so thanks for expanding my horizons ). Please keep writing...

[Jane]

Sending hugs. I hate the moments when reality sinks in with my children. I treasure the innocence and wonder and hate to see any part of their precious little hearts tainted with harsh truth. Sending extra hugs.

[amanda]

Thanks for the post. I lost my mom about 18months ago and it hurts like hell that she wasn't able to meet my youngest daughter, who's 4months now. It kills me that she never heard my son call her MwaMwa (which is the name he gave her picture and his other grandma) or to get kisses and "looks" from my older daughter. It sucks, big time, being a motherless mom but it helps a teeny-tiny bit to hear from others going through it too.

And, PS-when my son was in the NICU after being born at 34 wks I read him Harry Potter-but skipped the parts about his dead parents. Even at that young and utterly unaware age I still wanted to keep the whole dead mommy and daddy thing away from him.

[Bon]

i'm late to this. i just wanted to say how much it moved me.

the sensitivity of children to gaps in our answers never ceases to amaze me.

[Kat]

Beautiful post. So sorry you lost your mom. Mine has absolutely no patience with her grandson, which is hard to deal with. Yours sounds like she'd have been a wonderful grandma.

[Erin]

Just stumbled across your blog. What a heartbreaking post. I too have fast forwarded that Nemo movie to Scene 3 to avoid the heavy. Thank you for giving me the bravery to discuss with my 3 year old. Love your blog.

[Samantha]

Nemo sucks, but my girl loves it. Every time she says "where is Nemo's mummy? Where did all the babies go?", I want to chuck the dvd in the bin. Grrrr.

My husband's sister died in tragic circumstances before my daughter was born, but we talk about "Aunty Nicky in Heaven", (husband also a catholic) because he misses her too much not to mention her. We haven't said she is dead, just that she lives in heaven in the sky now.

My daughter talks about her on and off, especially when she sees photos of her. My husband loves that his sister is in our daughter's life, but it totally freaks out my husband's family.

Do what works for you. It is hard.

[Alice B]

Thank you for this. My mother died suddenly back in 1994, and at the end of August. My daughter is a little over two years old, and I'm due any day with my second child. I want my kids to know who my mother was, how important she was to me, but I don't know how to introduce that idea. The sad part is I bet my late mother would be much more present in my childrens' lives than the ones who are still alive. And maybe she is! But now doesn't feel like the time. I wish you strength and am curious to know (eventually) how you handle this. All best...

[Chicky Chicky Baby]

I tell you this with love - it gets harder when they're four. But you can handle it.

[Amelia Sprout]

Awww, I just want to give you a big hug.

[ElizabethSheryl]

or offer you giant hugs. oy.

[ElizabethSheryl]

It is amazing the intuition children have. I completely understand your decision to not introduce the concept of death, although I'm sure at some level she does realize there is a permanent "away".

When I was 8 years old, I went though an period of extreme anxiety that my mother would die. I STILL have that anxiety at 24. My mom has rheumatoid arthritis, and is now at the point where she really need to retire and take it easy, and isn't really wanting to face the reality since she is only 56. I can't imagine the sense of loss you have and I off your big, giant star filled ***hugs****.

[Manic Mommy]

With Andy's dad, we've always talked about him as Grampa-up-in-Heaven. If nothing else, our Catholic upbringings have provided a framework for life and death that we're able to pass along to our children.

Until recently with HRH and still with Gremlin, we let it lie that he died when he was old because we didn't want them to think that Daddies or Mommies don't come home. I think that's enough for now.

My kids love stories about when we were kids. I hope you'll enjoy sharing your stories with your girl.

[donna]

What a beautiful piece. Reminds me to really cherish this time that I do have with my mom and that my daughter has with her.

[clink]

Disney is evil, we always skip that scene in Nemo.

That said. We are visiting my Dad this week and Riley walked right up to a picture of my mother...."Granma". She knew her from her baby photo book but I had never heard her say the word. We used to look at it and I called her Grandma in the sky, I guess somethings sink in.

[Julie @ The Mom Slant]

I'm glad you were able to keep your composure, because I certainly can't. Tears streaming away over here.

[slouching mom]

this was really lovely, NG.

[Binkytowne]

There is never a good time for this. You have a smart little girl there and you'll know the moment when it comes..

[the new girl]

Emme Bea: I have no words. Hand to my heart, sister.

[Emme Bea]

I have wanted to delurk for months (a year or so even?) now. I found you through Anne Nahm's link when you were writing about your crazy neighbor. I laughed so hard then, I snorted. Alone. Out loud. Which made me read your archives and every single post said something to me. Reminded me of something in my life or made me say, "Sheeez, me TOO!" I started thinking about writing you, but I didn't because, hey! Blog-stalk much? But this post resonated so much to me.

I lost my mom April 29, 2004. Yes, almost exactly a year before you lost yours. My mom died of lung cancer, too. I had a son, my only living child almost three years ago, and every single time you write about the loss of your mom or how being a motherless mother makes you feel or how parenting your child without your mother in your life, I say, "THIS is when I'll comment. THIS is when I need to tell her that her writing of these things is moving me." And I don't. But today? I will, because I find myself struggling with how do deal with lost Mommies (Thanks Nemo and every other freakin' animated movie EVER for that)with my son. He's not yet started asking questions, but I have lots of pictures of my mom around and I know it's coming.

I miss my mother terribly and I know you do too. I know how incredibly hard it is to watch this amazing child you've brought into this world and think that it just plain sucks all kinds of donkey ass that you cannot share her with your mother. You are not alone, and thanks to you, I also know I am not either.

Thanks TNG for putting into works what I am so often feeling. I'll stop lurking and start commenting more. Maybe. I AM a lazy fan after all. XOXO

[julie]

Beautifully written. I can't even imagine being in that situation, with my mother being such an integral part of my children's lives. I hate that sometimes they have to grow up so fast and learn things they shouldn't have to learn about at such a young age. You handled this with grace and honour.

[Trish]

What an absolutely beautiful post. You have such a way with words.

[Suzy Voices]

Such a beautiful story. But I like to think that Grandma Karen IS there, watching her daughter and granddaughter with such pride and joy.

[Lori Portka]

My heart is filled with love for all three of you.

[HaB]

I hope that I am able to handle that same situation when it happens in my own house (My husband's mother is deceased) with as much poise, love, understanding and self reflection as you did.

Thanks for sharing such a touching moment.

[Erica]

I find it so interesting that my daughter hasn't yet asked about my mom. She only asks about familial relations in so much as they relate to her. Gerald's mom is "my Nana." Gerald's Aunt in "my Aunt Jean." My dad is "my Popie." She doesn't seem to get that those people are related to us, too, or that we might have mamas and daddies and nanas.

I've already shown her pictures of my mother and told her that's her Nanny who isn't here anymore. She was completely unaffected by it, so I'm golden for a little while longer.

[Swistle]

I feel the same way.

[Cass]

This was an incredible post. Thank you for sharing this. I am touched.

[Tess]

Oh, this is just so...hard. I remember worrying as a kid that my mom would die, after my grandfather did. I never want my daughter to feel that worry, although of course she will.

Lovely.

[Shelly]

Wow, this is really stunning.

[TT]

Delurking to say how beautiful this piece is. Lovely.